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<title>angels aren't the only ones with wings by dreadfulbeauties</title>
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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25978687">angels aren't the only ones with wings</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/dreadfulbeauties/pseuds/dreadfulbeauties'>dreadfulbeauties</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Bloodborne (Video Game)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - 1930s, M/M, everyone is typecasted and no one is happy about it, it's more BASED OFF the 1930s than the actual 1930s, messing around with bloodborne canon this is just an au, there's no coherent storyline here fellas</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-08-19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-08-19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 11:07:00</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,788</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25978687</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/dreadfulbeauties/pseuds/dreadfulbeauties</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Snapshots into an alternate Yharnam, in which Laurence is the homewrecker, Amelia the ingenue, and the stars don't overlap with the human beings as much as we'd like them to.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Laurence/Ludwig (Bloodborne)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>9</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>angels aren't the only ones with wings</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">They chance to meet in a run-down diner that smells of gasoline and frying eggs, its white paint peeling off the walls in ragged strips. Ludwig doesn’t expect anything there other than a quick cup of greasy coffee rattling around on its saucer before he checks back to see if the bus has arrived yet — to think, stuck in the middle of a drizzle that turned into a veritable flood so far away from the studio’s brightness. And now he sits rain-drenched to the bone in a seat that can spin and charcoal-dark hair clinging to his skin, staring ahead at the counter as he watches dregs of dark coffee drip from the strainer into his mug.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> “Stop by here often?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> A young man speaks from the seat next to Ludwig. His bespectacled, bright brown eyes peek out from behind a curtain of very long, coppery red hair that twists down his back. A slim gold watch glitters upon one wrist — the solitary, remotely shiny-looking item on him. The man is dressed in shabby clothes streaked with dirt, thin cracks spiderwebbing across the surface of his spectacles.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> “No,” says Ludwig. “Not really.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> “I’m not surprised — you don’t look as though you’d even give this place a glance, by the looks of it.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> Even soaked in rainwater Ludwig’s clothing — from his hat down to the damp dress shoes — are crisply-ironed and sharply cut, a far cry from his fellow customer’s filthy rags. The man behind the counter slides his mug of now-brewed coffee over, chipped porcelain clinking against the cool metal counter.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> “Really, I wouldn’t expect to see anyone dressed like you down here in this part of Yharnam,” the man continues. He smooths stray hair away from his face. “Makes me wonder what business you have down here.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> “None, really — I got off at the wrong stop and I got too sick of standing out in the pouring rain waiting for the bus.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> The man gropes around one pocket, pulling out a soggy box of cigarettes. “Want one?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> “Not particularly.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> “Suit yourself.” He balances the thin little wad of paper between his lips when he finishes lighting it, shaking out the flame to watch a thin wisp of smoke curl its way out of his mouth. He, too, looks out of place in this diner, a chameleon that forgot to change color to blend in. Those clothes of his hang in a way they shouldn’t, sleeves of his suit too dirty and wrinkled and the elbow has one too many holes. It’s not that he’s a chameleon that forgot how to blend in, thinks Ludwig, it’s that he’s simply in a place that no chameleon would be able to hide in. Touch him up a bit and put him in a nice suit — cut and slick his hair back, perhaps — and he’d fit in far more on a studio set.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> “You know this seems to be a bit of a one-sided conversation to me. What business might you have here?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> “I live around here. Don’t like spending too much time at home, but I can’t really do much when I’ve got nowhere to go let alone no money to go anywhere. So I just go on walks and I just find myself here. I try not to go too far away from this part of Yharnam, though — I’ve got a little sister waiting for me back home.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> “How old is she?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> “Fifteen. Cute kid, too — not just saying that because she’s my sister. A shame she can’t get cast in any of the movies, even though Mom’s been trying to push her to.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> “You’re not a bad looker yourself, either.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">From the way the young man tilts his head, Ludwig can catch traces of a very slight little smile. “You think so?”</p><p class="p1">“Sure, they’d just have to clean you up, arrange you in some nice promotional photoshoots, get you started out with bit parts and you’d be fine. Can you act?”</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> “I’ve tried, but I’m not sure if I’d be able to.” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> “That wouldn’t be much of an issue either. A lot of the stars of Yharnam can’t act their way out of a paper bag, but people aren’t there to see them acting.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> He watches the man turn to face him, sharp brown eyes staring up at Ludwig’s gray. His eyes soften and grow large, mouth made small and lip sticking out just a bit. When he tilts his head, hair falls to brush against one cheek. He speaks in a soft, trembling husk of a voice.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> “You sure I don’t need to act the part of a star in order to get there?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> Ludwig takes a sip of coffee. Then the man bursts out laughing.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> “Was that good enough of an impression for you? Can I act or not?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> “The way you went about it I didn’t think you were acting!”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> “All according to plan!” His smile lapses into a much more neutral expression. “You know, the way you talk about this business of stars makes me think you might be in the business too. It wasn’t just your clothes that made me think that was a possibility, you know.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> “You have an eye for detail. That’s considered pretty important where I’m from — I work for the Yharnam Film Gazette.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> “First time I’ve ever heard someone use that as a compliment.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> Ludwig raises an eyebrow. “Oh?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> “Last time I heard someone say anything like that, it was as a way of telling me to stop sticking my nose in business where I don’t belong.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> “Now who would that be?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> He can see the way the man’s smile is tacked on, the pained little way the lines around his mouth form. “That’d be my mother.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> “Doesn’t take kindly to people asking questions, does she?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> “Not particularly.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> Ludwig sighs, shoving a hand into one wet pocket. “She’d probably not like me very much, then.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> A blanket of silence drapes itself over the diner, only unable to muffle the sound of rain rattling the windows outside and the hum of the coffee maker. The man lights another cigarette and slips it into his mouth, popping it out to watch the smoke slither its way out. Ludwig sips at his coffee: A greasy, bitter-tasting concoction that leaves an aftertaste he can’t place on his tastebuds. He thinks back again to the sight of this man working as a star: He can imagine the light of the camera illuminating his face, softening his features to a glow. He thinks back to the wet and ragged clothes the man wears, of the tight-lipped mother he mentioned and that kid sister of his. You’d find success as a star, Ludwig thinks, I know it won’t be easy — far from it, it never is. But it’d be better than rotting away in Yharnam’s slums, waiting for your house to go into foreclosure or for starvation to take you first.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> “I can take you to the studios if you’d like. See if they can get you to sign a contract for them.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> “Sounds a little too good to be true. Life here isn’t a bed of roses, but I was taught to never go off with strangers.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> “Does this convince you otherwise?” He slips out a business card, soggy at the edges from the rain. While the fine print is blurred from water, the title of <em>Byrgenwerth </em>stands in bold blue hue at the top. His name, too, is visible at the bottom: Ludwig von Sternberg.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> “So you’re the Ludwig von Sternberg whose name is on all those articles — you conducted that interview with Maria Uhrmacher a few months ago, right?” The man is careful to keep his voice quiet, even though there are barely any other occupants in the diner. “Apparently, you’re noteworthy for managing to secure a job at the Yharnam Film Gazette only a few years ago, and you’re twenty-one now.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> “The one and only. You weren’t kidding around when you said you had an eye for detail.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> “I’m not the sort of person to kid around, Mr. von Sternberg.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> “You were a few minutes ago, fooling me with that look of yours when I said that some of the people who work in the movies can’t act worth a damn.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> “Think you can put in a good word in for my sister and I?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> “Of course I can. I’d just need a name.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> “I’m Laurence. Laurence Mundson. My sister’s name is Amelia.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> “I’ll be sure to tell them about you. I really think you’ve got a shot at work in the movies.” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> Laurence stubs his cigarette against the surface of the counter. “There’s still the matter of my mother. She’d probably skin me alive if she found out. Maybe she’d go a little easier on Amelia — she always has — but I can’t be too sure.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> “Meet me here tomorrow. Three in the afternoon should work. Bring your sister.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> “She has school, but I think I might be able to convince her to come with me.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> “Good. You’ve got the makings of a star, Laurence. Let’s hope for the best and see if you actually become one — I think you will.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> “Don’t get your hopes up, Mr. von Sternberg. I’ve made that mistake before. But I’ll be sure to meet you here at three tomorrow. Besides, I don’t think it’ll take much to convince Amelia to come with me.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> “Glad we’ve managed to come to an agreement — guess I’d better check to see if that bus of mine’s arrived yet. Or if I’ve missed it. Again.” Ludwig pulls out a few gold pieces to pay for his coffee, though he’s not entirely sure if he wants to step out of the diner and into the roaring rainstorm again. His clothes haven’t even completely dried yet — still damp, they cling to his skin.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> “If you’ve missed your bus I’ll be waiting here if you want to chat more,” says Laurence.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> “That’s very kind of you.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> He emerges into the sums of Yharnam without an umbrella, splashing through puddles and keeping his hat balanced on his head. There is a bus and he takes it to the right stop this time. When he gets home tonight he will be fussed over and asked why he hadn’t thought to pluck an umbrella out before he left. Ludwig’s head will be too murky with thoughts for him to answer, as he is now. He doesn’t think Laurence has the makings of a star, he knows so. Stars seem to be as common in Yharnam as they are in the sky — at least, beyond Yharnam, where there is no smog smothering them and holding them back.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> <em>Laurence, I really do hope that we’ll end up meeting again.</em></span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>EDIT: i will now detail the old movie references for your convenience!</p><p>- the entire scene is inspired by the 1941 film sullivan's travels, in which the titular sullivan disguises himself as tramp and meets a young woman known simply as the girl (played by the beautiful veronica lake) in a diner.<br/>- laurence's surname of mundson is taken from the 1946 film gilda, starring rita hayworth - "mundson" is the surname of ballin mundson, owner of an illegal casino, and the married name of his wife gilda.<br/>- ludwig's surname von sternberg is taken from renowned silent film and pre-code director joseph von sternerg<br/>- laurence's "discovery" by ludwig is sort of reminiscent of lana turner's discovery: the founder of the hollywood reporter stumbled across her sipping a coke at the counter of a malt shop where she'd gone after skipping school. laurence is a bit older than lana when she was discovered (lana was fifteen, laurence is around eighteen or nineteen here) - this kind of justifies what some might assume to be a contrived first meeting between laurence and ludwig i guess :] a lot of the time in old hollywood, this stuff just happened</p><p>thank you for reading this. please stay safe and take care of yourselves &lt;3</p></blockquote></div></div>
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